


i'd be lying if i told you i'm fine

by bountifulsilences



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I cant think of anymore, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, not huge but deserves the tag i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bountifulsilences/pseuds/bountifulsilences
Summary: “It's not as bad as it looks,” he divulged. By the way Steve glanced at him, eyes hardening and his shoulders tensing, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. “You've got a little blood there,” Bucky said casually.“You've got it everywhere,” replied Steve.





	i'd be lying if i told you i'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> this...is part of a story that i never finished writing basically and thought "why don't i share it?"
> 
> backstory: clint and bucky are bros who met whilst whilst on the run. bucky's parents were part of a cult, hydra, and he was the ultimate gift to them: a weapon aka winter soldier. he escapes yada yada yada. the rest is history but he gets caught and this is the aftermath.  
> this is not an avengers fic, they just work for shield i think idek
> 
> i wish you the best to try to understand it bc this is a bitch without context, also all mistakes are my own as this is unedited annndd without further ado...

Steve didn't say anything at first, stalking over to him, stoic and halting at his side. Immediately he dropped to his knees, a heavy thud accompanying it and leaned close to him, keeping his hands to himself.

His cheeks were blown red, a lake of blood simmering under his skin and at the crease of his cheekbone was a small cut. Apart from small scrapes and underdeveloped bruises he was fine, nothing life threatening, and Bucky breathed in relief, satisfied.

Eyes assessing, they searched his face dutifully, mapping each streak and each bruise and each burn of misconduct, rigid like a tree. Allowing him to process his face, Bucky remained silent for as long as he could.

It was quiet in the room, apart from the sound of his friends scurrying into the room and heavy breathing emanating from everyone's chest. It almost muted the terror bathing his skeleton as he stared at Steve desperately.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” he divulged, a pesky lie that concealed none of the agony boiling beneath his skin. By the way Steve glanced at him, eyes hardening and his shoulders tensing, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

His back dug painfully into the wall, accentuated bones prodding the concrete structure, but rather than leaving the disturbed body as it were, Bucky tried to impose into Steve's space, trembling hands ascending slowly. Eyes darting to it, Steve watched him as they advance to his face.

“You've got a little blood there,” Bucky said casually, his thumb swiping the dribbling red liquid to the side, smearing his skin. His hands dropped onto his lap.

“You've got it everywhere,” replied Steve, his thumb delicately wiping the fresh blood under his eye, while his index and remaining fingers went to Bucky's chin.

Not finished exploring him, Steve moved his head gently to the side, prodding it with his fingers as Bucky complied. A dull ache emerged from the miniscule movement, but he held his ground and clenched his teeth. As his face was directed to expose the other side, he wondered how he looked. Dreaded it even.

Blood drenched multiple surfaces of his body and soaked his clothes all other, tainting all that it grazed. However, confidently, Steve navigated through the battered wasteland.

Arching into the touch, breathing deeply, Bucky nodded and closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the agony blooming everywhere. Zola had been adventurous and his parents excited, leaving no stone unturned. He didn't know what was wrong with him anymore.

But soon, Steve froze, reaching a particularly nasty piece of work after having detached the ruined shirt from his shoulder. His hand was paralysed where it had displayed his skin, hidden from everyone's view. Shoulders tensing considerably and his jaw locking tightly, Steve was unresponsive as he glared at what he saw.

Distantly, Bucky recalled a memory of a saw cutting the thin layers of skin and how he had inched away, but not far enough for it to stop. Swallowing hard, he daren’t think of how it looked. Focusing on Steve instead, he used his broken fingers to lift his face and reconnect their eyes.

“I'm going to kill them,” he said, voice lethal and full of conviction.

Bucky didn't doubt it once. “Its fine. They're finally gone.”

“At what cost?”

“Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix,” he soothed.

“Or a couple of weeks in the hospital,” Steve amended.

He didn't deny it. It would be beneficial. Knowing that everyone was listening and aware of the piercing eyes, he shook his head. “You know I can't…”

“Can't what?” Tony asked when Steve didn't respond.

Bucky didn't answer. He gazed into Steve's conflicted eyes, promising and full of fight. Hospitals or anything alluding them were off the table. He wouldn't go. Especially not after what he had endured.

The formal walls and bitter isolation were too much like Hydra, too much like the solitary confinement he withstood as they forced him to succumb to their dreams. Having a doctor monitor him and nurses swarm around the bed, scrutinising his body was too similar to Zola and his parents.

It was hard to forget their first battle after Steve had begged him to see a doctor, the demands and the refusals that they passed back and forth. He may be worse physically, but he’d use all of his remaining might to protest what he would consider an injustice. If they took him to a hospital, it would not be with his consent.

Eventually, Steve nodded, a heavy rejection following. “I promise.”

He exhaled a sigh full of relief. Despite everything, Steve wasn't overly angry, and he was willing to listen. Now more so than ever. It was kindness for him to be understanding in a moment that was built on insanity.

“What have you promised?” Tony questioned behind him.

Steve made no inclination that he heard it. Sympathetically, Bucky tossed him a glance. He looked less beat up than he was expecting, surprising given the circumstances, apart from a sliced eyebrow, nothing too serious.

Natasha’s cut lip had dried before any blood could spill, and her curls had deflated to large spirals. Apart from her disgruntled appearance she was seemingly fine, no other injuries detectable

All of them were okay apart from little hurts. Whilst trying to retrieve him they didn't do a number on themselves and for that he was grateful. At least they knew how to prepare for what was coming.

“I was going to tell you,” he revealed, not sure what else to say.

Steve wasn’t willing to extinguish the quietness that was developing in the room, but he couldn’t stand it. He needed noise that wasn’t his screams or Zola’s manic laughter or his parent’s sick approval. Anything to banish those memories at that time.

“When? When you were no longer here?” Steve asked, cynical but with every right to be.

Bucky shook his head. “Before they found me, Clint and I had arranged the whole thing, but they were too quick. Ambushed me when I least expected it.”

“Clint debriefed us before we came,” Steve said stiffly. “We know about...everything.”

“You know as much as he does,” Bucky clarified. “There are still things that even Clint doesn't know.”

“Are you prepared to tell me?” Steve asked, not intrusive but rather caring.

“Not yet. Later,” he vowed.

Horrors were easier to witness than they were to retell. He needed something- a new place to remove the last pieces of Hydra from him, acutely aware of the mark of an octopus that was tattooed into his skin, the stomach area. In time he’d tell them everything, eager to spill the truth lining the pages of his book but until then, he couldn’t exhaust them out of him.

“Steve, we need to take Barnes to the hospital,” Natasha said, stepping forward in argument. Steve shifted his head, so he could see her through his peripheral vision. Bucky saw stubbornness in rivalry with her command.

“No,” he stated, keeping true to his word.

“But-”

“It’s fine,” Bucky intervened, managing a timid smile. It didn't hurt to contort his lips as such after spending minutes talking to Steve, but a strain was evident nonetheless as a warning not to exert himself. “I just want to go home.”

Steve still refused to look at him, eyes tracking his best friend as she watched Bucky hard, searching for something and eventually finding whatever it was, complying to his wish. Cradling Steve’s face, he brought him closer and he easily came, eyes meeting his. There was a little green in the blue ocean.

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted in a whisper, carefully squeezing, and soothing the patch of skin he grazed repeatedly, careful not to aggravate the tender bones.

Steve didn’t look placated. In fact, he looked more put out. “No, you’re not.”

“They’re gone,” he said, envisioning honest safety in the near future. “They’re dead. They can’t hunt me anymore. I’m as good as I’ll ever be. I never thought this day would come.” He always thought they’d kill him before he could escape. “I’m free.”

“And hurt,” Steve reminded him, not allowing him to forget, but he waved it off.

“A small price to pay,” he said offhandedly. Steve glared at the side of his face, unable to maintain contact. “Hey, this will heal. I will heal. Everything’s going to be okay now.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying all of this to you?” Steve asked, keening to the soft rubs Bucky was giving at the side of his face.

“You don’t have to.”

Steve released an exhalation, breath fanning Bucky’s face as it disintegrated in the air. His gaze was earnest, it was hopeful, and it was determined.

“When you disappeared I just…” stopping, he gave himself a moment to compose the emotions that were fleeing onto his face all at once. “I just lost it,” he admitted, iris’ retreating to Bucky’s and shrugging. “Clint was a mess, uncontrollable. Before we came he made me promise to- to-”

“Bring back the body?” Bucky prompted.

Steve laughed knowingly, melancholy vibrating through each sound. “Yeah, bring back the body.”

“I told that if they find me, don’t come looking. Stay in the safehouse for a week, if I don’t make it then run. But, he didn’t,” Bucky said, not entirely surprised or angry. “He trusts you, you know? Wouldn’t have helped you otherwise.”

He didn’t respond immediately, Steve losing answer within himself, and Bucky let him be. Stroking his face as gently as he could and leaning into his space, so he could feel the warmth of his skin and the very much active chest. He knew his past and present were horrific, Clint explained that him.

Over time, he became severely desensitised to it, and even though Clint was the most empathetic person he knew, so had he. Their life was a film that ran continuously with no intervals or time to relax, confronting the nature of Bucky’s existence and why he was born, ignoring it was the only thing they could do.

Steve, a man who fought wars of all kind weekly, couldn't comprehend why Clint would risk however much time he had and withhold vital information about Bucky’s whereabouts. He couldn’t- Clint made Bucky a human, but at the same time, Bucky had him into a machine. They influenced each other and while Clint wasn’t murdering innocent people, he had adopted some of the characteristics of a man who did.

By not telling Steve he probably experienced immeasurable anguish, but after being alone so long and having nothing but each, he couldn't get it out. They planned to do it together, confront their past before Steve and be honest of their crimes and how they lived, but how could he without Bucky? They needed each other. They always had.

Steve closed his eyes and leaned into Bucky’s space, breathing deeply and it was absently done but he nudged the damaged shoulder with his nose evoking fireworks to explode in frayed nerves. Bucky flinched loudly, and Steve retracted, eyes wide once more and containing murderous ire.

“Steve, he needs medical help, this can wait. We need to go now,” Natasha reminded him, exasperated in a way she rarely revealed. “Don’t make me-”

“Natasha,” Steve started, voice dull but threatening. “Go, I’ll bring him.”

“But-” Tony tried to protest.

“Leave,” Steve announced, leaving no room for an argument that nobody had the strength for,

Bucky knew he was overprotective, knew that he would remain insatiable and irritated for as long as their privacy was infiltrated. As did Natasha, who nodded at him when he looked at her pleadingly. She would get the time.

Removing everyone from the room, in the barren cell remained Bucky and Steve, who sighed and dropped his head onto the wall next to Bucky’s. For excruciating minutes, he didn’t speak, and Bucky didn’t trust himself enough to induce another conversation. He waited for it to come to him.

“Will you be honest with me next time?” Steve asked.

Bucky blinked, suddenly floundered. “Next time?”

“Yes, next time,” he promised, voice earnest. “Will you be honest with me if you're in trouble or need help? Because this...can’t happen again. It just can’t.”

“If there is a next time, then yes.” Bucky nodded slowly. “From this moment onwards, no more secrets and no more danger. It’s done.”

“Oh, thank God,” Steve breathed, leaning backwards, and pressing a soothing, firm kiss on his forehead. “Cause I don’t think anyone can handle it. Not a second time.”

“You know what Stevie, I don’t think I can either,” Bucky confessed but he didn’t feel weak for accepting that. It was liberating to know that he could rely on Steve how Clint and he relied on each other.

Steve groaned. “I never thought I’d miss that nickname but from your mouth...I’ll take anything.”

Chuckling, because he knew how Steve cringed at the name, he was preparing to say it again, but the laughter jostled his body out of place re-establishing the pain he had been trying to forget. He tried to play it off, but Steve perceptive as always noticed.

“Let's get you out of here, Mr Barnes. Clint is worried sick, and your house had been trashed so you’re homeless. But don't worry, I have a huge bed that is desperately wanting to be filled,” Steve told him.

Bucky grinned despite the pain. “I’m more than happy to do something about that Mr Rogers, lead the way.”

For the first time in years Bucky felt safe knowing that his parents and Zola were dead, Hydra was over, and Steve wanted his company rather than detest it like he should. After years walking cluelessly through a dark tunnel, Bucky saw a light in the far distance and knew that their surviving had paid off.

He was finally Bucky Barnes.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:  bountifulsilences   
> twitter:  AwestruckBuck 


End file.
